My son has put me off pink. The colour – not the singer, she seems a pleasant enough lady… No, the colour… I was never a girly girl, although when I was little, my mother used to dress me in lacy frocks and the like. (I was never allowed milk chocolate because of the mess, only white chocolate and I must confess my liking for white chocolate has stayed with me well into adulthood.)
Anyway, as a reaction to my frilly childhood, I was and still am, a jeans and jumper person. Practical, yet comfortable. You can scrub the grout in your bathroom, or hurl yourself to the floor to retrieve an errant mouse brought in by a thoughtful cat. However, as I have got older, I have found myself leaning towards the pink and sparkly type of things every stereotypical woman is supposed to love. This was possibly started by my affinity with Rose Quartz. My first piece is a beautiful deep pink and when used as a focus for meditation turns everything pink and happy and I feel like I am literally looking at the world through rose-tinted glasses.
This particular day, we were at my mother’s and I was just chatting about redecorating to her, how I would paint the whole house in lovely harmonising shades of pink, with perhaps a couple of large chunks of Rose Quartz placed artfully here and there. The whole theme was centred around this wonderful carpet I had seen. It was pink! It had sparkles in it! In a carpet!
I turned to my son to ask for his opinion on pink everything and he muttered hesitantly, yet determinedly: “Bodies.”
Just the one word, but I was somewhat taken aback. I should perhaps mention at this point he is vegetarian, so this one word, from his viewpoint conjured up lots of horrible connotations… Slabs of pork, pallidly glistening under the fluorescent light of the butchers… vacuum packed steak, still oozing blood at the edges… bodily orifices… yuk.
Colours are quite important to me. My moods colour my days, from the murky black of a depression session to the sunny yellow of a better day when the sun is out and the birds are singing.
(“And what colour are your feelings today, Samantha?”
“Olive green with little spikes” – I live for puzzled silences…)
My Rose Quartz bristled with indignation in my pocket. After a pause for reflection (and a reassuring pat to my Rose Quartz) all I could manage was: “Oh.”
Anyone for orange?